The Rose of Old St. Louis Part 18

"Certainly, Monsieur," a little stiffly; "I am sorry to have kept you standing so long."

She drew her skirts a little aside, and I sat down, quite at the other end of the bundle of pelts, but nearer to her than I had been in many long days. Then, in a purposely didactic and argumentative way, I cited to her all the instances in history I could think of, winding up with Cleopatra and Ninon de l'Enclos, until by entering into the argument she had entirely forgotten herself and her embarra.s.sment.

Then suddenly into a little break in our conversation there came the clear whinny of Fatima. She was on the other boat, tied close to ours, and as we were in the stern and she in the bow, she had no doubt heard her master's voice and was calling him. I was greatly tempted to call her by the whistle she knew, but I did not quite dare. She would have broken all possible bounds to come to me in answer to that whistle, and I would not have been surprised to see her clear the s.p.a.ce between the two boats.

"That was Fatima," mademoiselle said, and sighed a little.

"Yes," I said, "and I think I could tell what your sigh meant."

"Did I sigh?"

"Yes, and it meant, 'I wish it were Leon.'"

"Yes," she said; "I was thinking how much Fatima loves you, and Leon, too, as soon as he was able to forgive your disgracing him so. I think all dogs and horses love you, Monsieur."

"That is because I love them, Mademoiselle."

"Does love always beget love?"

"Not always, Mademoiselle; sometimes it begets scorn."

"Then I suppose the love dies?"

"No, Mademoiselle; unhappily, it but grows the stronger."

"That is folly, is it not?"

"Mademoiselle, if you will allow me to be a philosopher like Clotilde--love has no regard for sense or wisdom, else would Yorke love one of his own age, and I would love one of my own country and my own rank."

She said not a word for a long time, but sat with downcast eyes.

Suddenly she lifted them, and they shone with a softer radiance than I had ever seen in them before.

"Of what were you thinking, Mademoiselle?" I said gently.

She hesitated a moment, and then like the soft sigh of a zephyr came her words:

"I was wis.h.i.+ng you were a chevalier of France."

"And I, Mademoiselle, was wis.h.i.+ng you were a maiden of St. Louis, as I supposed you were when I first saw you."

"I would not have been of your country, even then," she said, with delicious shyness, half looking at me, half looking away in pretty confusion.

"Not now, but you soon would be. St. Louis will belong to us some day."

"Never!" She spoke in hot haste, all the patriot firing within her, and looking full at me with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. "St. Louis will be French some day, as it used to be, I believe with all my heart; but American, _never_!"

"Mademoiselle, we had a wager once. Shall we have one more?"

"Is it that St. Louis will one day be American?"

"Yes."

"I am very willing to wager on that, for it is a certainty for me.

What shall be the stakes?"

"Mademoiselle, they would be very high."

"I am not afraid."

I thought for a moment, and then I shook my head.

"Mademoiselle, I dare not. I am sure St. Louis will one day be ours, but the time may be long, and by that day the worst may have happened.

You may have found your chevalier of France."

She looked up at me in a quick, startled way, which changed gradually to her old proud look.

"Monsieur, I know not what stakes you had in mind, but this I know: if 'twere a lady's hand it were unworthy you and her. A lady's hand is for the winning by deeds of prowess or by proof of worth, not by betting for it as though 'twere a horse or a pile of louis d'or."

"Mademoiselle," I cried in an agony of shame, "forgive me, I beg.

Forgive a poor wretch who saw no chance of winning by prowess or worth, and who was so desperate that he would clutch at any straw to help him win his heart's desire."

Her look softened at once, and when she spoke again 'twas in her gentlest tones.

"Monsieur," she said, "to-morrow we part, and it would seem there is but little chance that we shall see each other again in this world.

Fate has placed our lots on different continents, with wide seas between. But for to-night let us forget that. Let us think we are to meet every day, as we have met in these weeks, and let us have a happy memory of this last evening to cherish always."

I could not speak for a moment. Her voice, its sweet tones breaking a little at the last, unmanned me. I turned away my head, for I would not let her see the workings of my face, nor my wet eyes, lest she think me boyish again. It was the sealing of my doom, but I had known it always. And there was a drop of sweet amid the bitter that I had never dared hope for. She, too, was sad--then she must care a little.

In a minute I was able to turn toward her again and speak in a firm, low voice.

"You are right, Mademoiselle; we will be happy to-night. Come," I said, rising and extending my hand to her, "let us go watch the revelers on the other boat; they, at least, are troubled by no useless regrets."

She put her hand in mine, and we went back by the stern rail and stood watching the scene below us.

A plank had been thrown from one boat to the other to make easy communication, and the crew of our boat, with the exception of the two left always on guard, had crossed over. They had cleared a s.p.a.ce for dancing, and lighted it by great pine-knots cut from the forest close by. Yorke, set high on a pile of forage with his beloved banjo, was playing such music as put springs into their heels. Canadians and negroes were all dancing together--the Frenchmen with graceful agility, the negroes more clumsily, even grotesquely, but with a rhythm that proved their musical ear. Clotilde and a negress cook were the only women, and greatly in demand by both Frenchmen and negroes.

Clotilde rather scorned partners of her own color, and was choosing only the best-looking and the best dancers of the white men, with a caprice worthy of her mistress, I thought, and probably in imitation of her. Yorke did not seem to mind, but with the gayest good humor called out the figures as he played. Suddenly, as he wound up the last figure with a grand flourish, he beckoned to a little Canadian who had been specially agile in the dance, and they held a whispered consultation. Then Yorke resigned his banjo to him, and, leaping down into the middle of the floor, seized Clotilde about the waist without so much as saying "By your leave," and shouted:

"Choose partners for a waltz!"

Consternation followed, for not more than half a dozen had ever seen the new French dance. But when the little Canadian started up with his witching _trois-temps_, Yorke and Clotilde glided off rhythmically to its strains, the half-dozen followed, more or less skilfully, and the rest stood round gazing in respectful admiration.

Now I had learned the waltz at home in Philadelphia, but it had never been danced at the St. Louis parties, and I knew not whether mademoiselle knew the step or not. Yet was I seized with a great desire to follow Yorke's example.

"Mademoiselle," I said timidly, "why cannot we have a dance here? See, there is a clear s.p.a.ce on the deck, and the music is good."

"I waltz but poorly, Monsieur," she answered, looking up at me with a bright blush. "Madame Saugrain taught me the step, but I have practised it but little."

"Then we will be the better matched," I answered gaily. But when I had put my arm around her waist, and one of her beautiful hands rested on my shoulder, and I held the other in my firm clasp, I was seized with such trembling at my boldness in daring to hold her so near that almost my feet refused to move. Yet as soon as we were both gliding to the Canadian's music there was no longer any fear in my heart, only a great longing that the music might never cease and that we could go on forever circling to its strains. Wild thoughts whirled in my brain.

Why need mademoiselle go back to Paris? I believed, as I bent my head and looked into her dark eyes uplifted to mine, that only a little persuasion would be needed to make her give it all up. And I said to myself, "I will try."

But the music stopped. Mademoiselle gently withdrew herself from my encircling arm, and suddenly cold reason returned. How could I dream of betraying Dr. Saugrain's trust! How could I think of persuading her to relinquish the glories awaiting her for me! And, most of all, how could I dare to think she could be persuaded!